An insignificant dot is often filled with quietness,
often entangled in chaos,
often part of a straight line, often of a circle,
often soluble, often insoluble,
often plays the assigned role, often the destined role,
often wants to become somebody, but ends up becoming nobody.
A prisoner of love and hate often a dot is.
It often doesn’t know what a right or a wrong is.
Being so dependent, the dot forfeits the right to be called ‘I’.